


The Heart of Betrothal

by mychakk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood, Do Not Post on Another Website, Drama, F/M, Fluff I guess, Gore, Halloween at 221B - A Sherlolly Celebration, Resolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vamplock, Victorian, Violence, arranged marriage in a way, description of a dead body, not tab related, set in late 19th cent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychakk/pseuds/mychakk
Summary: Not once had he shown any kind of interest in her since the beginning of their betrothal. And yet here he was.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 78
Collections: 2020 Halloween at 221B - A Sherlolly Celebration





	The Heart of Betrothal

**Author's Note:**

> I blame, I mean, am grateful to MizJoely for the inspiration behind this fic. She made a comment on a Vamplock art and my muse decided, hey we're gonna write it. So here it is. 
> 
> I wrote it today and this one is not beta-read. So all mistakes are on me. 
> 
> Please note the tags, I would consider this a horror story, there are graphic descriptions of unsettling matters. Be warned, read at your own risk.

The Heart of Betrothal

xxx

Molly stared at her husband-to-be as he slowly raised to his feet, turned around and then took the few steps to stand in front of her. 

She hadn't expected him to come, hadn't expected him to care at all. Not once had he shown any kind of interest in her since the beginning of their betrothal. 

And yet here he was. 

He stood in front of her, clothed in his black suit, the latest gentlemen's fashion. His combed-back hair was frazzled a little by the scuffle from minutes before. He was gazing at her from beneath his eyelashes; his eyes - mesmerising in their natural multicoloured state - at the moment were glowing in the familiar, eerily yellowish way. 

Her insides squirmed. 

But not in fear, oh no. 

A blush painted her cheeks as his eyes bore into hers. She stared back at him, as if under a spell, clutching the tattered remains of her tea gown. A hot wave swept over her body, her tummy squeezed at the sight he presented, at the gaze he had her locked in.

His lips twitched as a smirk flashed on his face but other than that he remained unmoving.

“Milady,” he said finally, raising his hand. 

She looked at it; at the item he presented her with, then past him to the spectacle behind.

The _carnage._

Her eyes focused on the body sprawled there, lifeless and gory with blood and its intestines spread all over it. The expensive parquet floor was getting stained with bodily fluids dripping from the still warm corpse. The spiky wooden stakes - so dangerous not long ago - lay scattered haphazardly around the drawing room. 

She glanced at the paling, unmoving face; at the mouth that was twisted from the agonising screams. The screams that were so ordinary in the end, none of the Irish lilt recognizable in the yelps and shrieks of the dying. 

Her gaze moved to the eyes. The dark, bottomless, _human_ eyes, open but sightless. Empty. _Dead_. 

The dark, brown eyes of the one who had the audacity to try and court her, whisper poisonous thoughts in her ear; use her in hopes of finding in her a way to kill her betrothed. As _if_. The moment he had chosen that path, mistakenly assuming her to be of his kind, he was doomed.

For she was not of his kind. She wasn’t human, never had been, and her loyalties had never lied with them. 

And what a surprise it had been to him when he realised that! Those dark bottomless eyes widening in shock and fear, and contempt. 

The satisfaction was short lived though. 

With ferocity, he had thrown himself at her, his mouth twisted in hatred. And she had fought him in kind, ready to defend her betrothed. Till the end. For even if she had never been loyal to humans, she _was_ loyal to her husband-to-be. And it didn’t matter that he had never shown her any interest, that she had always assumed he was indifferent to her. She would _never_ betray him. She would _die_ for him! 

And for a moment, she thought that _would_ be her fate. 

She wasn't prepared to be faced with such a formidable opponent. She hadn't realised that this poisonous human was _Moriarty_ , _the_ vampire hunter, the one dreaded by her kind. She allowed herself to be falsely lulled by the preternatural advantages of her kind over his. She let herself foolishly entertain him in her human clothes, restricting as they were, even without the ever expected corset. And that was almost her downfall. Despite her strength and enhanced senses, she slowly, with dread and despair, realised he would eventually overcome her.

She knew no one would come to her rescue. No one knew who she had gotten entangled with to save her husband-to-be. In that moment she knew she could count only on herself. For no one cared. 

Oh, how wrong she was! 

Just as she thought this was it, just as she sent her last thoughts to (dare he say it?) her _beloved_ , quietly apologising for failing him, he _had_ _come_.

Her husband-to-be.

Her avenging angel. 

William Sherlock Scott Holmes. 

“Margaret?” her future husband called, bringing Molly from her memories. She blinked and looked back at him. His mercurial eyes, still with the eerie yellowish glow, were observing her face carefully, then finally they locked with hers.

Her insides squirmed, heartbeat accelerating, at the whirlpool of feelings suddenly visible in his irises. Feelings she had never seen before, never dared to hope to see aimed at her, daren’t to _name_ now. 

Overwhelmed she looked to his still raised hand. 

There, in its slippery and bloody glory, was the human's heart. Not beating anymore, oh no, but she could still recall the enchanting echo of its frantic beats as it had been ripped out of the human's chest. 

And now it was being presented to her. 

By her husband-to-be. Her betrothed. 

He had never presented her with anything. Hadn't followed the customs of betrothal gifts their kind demanded. She hadn't said anything to anyone, skillfully avoided any inquiries sent her way about it, because if it had become known there was nothing…

But he was here now. His hand outstretched and the bloodied heart on top of it. 

The heart of their enemy. The one who had tried to kill her. 

The heart that had been ripped from the heaving human chest _in an act of defending her_. 

A fine betrothal gift it was, indeed. 

She looked up to her betrothed's face, scarcely daring to hope. 

His eyes were searching hers, though, his posture tense, stiff with anticipation. And with a start, she realised the ball was in her court now, after all, as the human's saying goes. He had presented her with a gift and it's on her to accept it now ...or not. 

To accept _him_. 

She gasped as it dawned on her what one of the feelings swimming behind his eyes was. 

Fear.

Fear of rejection.

 _Her_ rejection of _him_.

How- how...silly. How inconceivable! 

How could he fear her rejecting him? How could he not know she was his? Belonged to him?

With a swift move she grabbed the heart from his outstretched hand and cradled it in hers, bringing it close to her chest as her gown rustled with her sudden movements. 

He inhaled sharply then straightened. “M-Margaret?”

She gazed at the bloodied heart in her palms, delicately weighting it, as she had been secretly taught, admiring it. She nodded at it once, then raised her eyes to lock them with his, and nodded at him decidedly. “William.”

He inhaled sharply again, eyes widening, then his shoulders sagged. He nodded back.

Her lips lifted slightly in response as her eyes searched his. 

He smiled back then straightened. His eyes still had the eerie yellowish glow, but there was a new gleam in them as they gazed at her, intensely. A new confidence, assurance, _command_. Her insides squirmed once again under his gaze, her tummy squeezed and she felt a pulsing sensation between her legs, as the air between them shifted somehow. She watched transfixed as he raised his bloodied hand - the one that had ripped her betrothal gift from its original resting place - to his lips and something in her _snapped_.

She grabbed the bloodied appendage and put the thumb in her mouth, sucking and licking the dark liquid covering it. She closed her eyes, unable to withhold the moan at the heady taste of the tangy warm blood mixed with the taste of his skin. 

She heard a growl coming from him and snapped her eyes open, only to see him staring at her darkly, his pupils blown with desire. He removed his thumb from her mouth swiftly and brought her against him.

“You toy with danger, my sweet Margaret,” he growled at her, his dark eyes locked with hers. “Leave that for our wedding night.” 

“B-but,” she tried, her desire, her arousal clouding her mind. “I-it’s still a week away…” 

He growled at her. “I-I will not have you sullied.” 

She wriggled and moaned in protest. “P-please… I-I’m yours, anyway...I-”

“No…” he groaned in response, his chest heaving. “For months… for months I have stayed away from you, hardly seeing you, keeping this- this beast inside me at bay.”

“What?” she gasped, her eyes snapping open, as she looked into his.

He stared at her, his gaze heated. “And here you are, undermining my resolve.”

She searched his eyes, barely daring to believe what he was saying. “Y-you want me? Truly want me? You have always wanted me?”

He groaned. “Can’t you feel it?” He thrust his hips against her and she gasped in response. She could. She could feel him. 

“Oh! Oh, kiss me, please, kiss me, William,” she pleaded, throwing her arms around his neck, straining on his toes to get closer to his mouth.

“Sherlock,” he growled at her, his arms bringing her body as close to his as possible, “my closest ones call me Sherlock.” His lips hovered above hers. 

She moaned, trying to get higher on her toes, to close the gap between their mouths. “Kiss me, Sherlock, please, kiss me!”

He groaned. “No… no…” he moaned and there was anguish in his voice. 

“W-why?” she whispered as their eyes locked, the air dazzling between them, eyes searching eyes, heart beating in sync, blood rushing and singing in their veins, but he was unmovable. “Please,” she tried once more.

“You know the rules, the traditions,” he whispered, his eyes flashing, “We can't, I-I can't…”

And just as she thought he would push her away for good, reject her and leave her empty and wanting, he groaned in defeat and crushed his lips to hers. 

His kiss was brutal and demanding, tongue plunging inside her mouth, licking the remnants of the blood she had licked from his thumb. She gave as much as she got, twisting her tongue with his, invading his mouth with hers, greedy for that heady taste of him. 

He crushed her to him, their bodies flushed, her breast pressing into his hard chest, the feeling of him against her making her moan. She ignored the splattering sound of the human heart hitting the floor, as her bloodied hand moved to his hair. She twisted the locks and rejoiced in the groan it elicited from him, the responding bite to her lips, the push of his hips, the evidence of his arousal firmly pressed against her abdomen once more. 

“No!” His cry was strangled as he pushed them apart. 

She whimpered in protest but he kept them separated with his strong arms. 

“No,” he breathed, his wild gaze locked with hers. “No…,” he whispered. 

“Why?” she whined, trying to get closer. 

He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then his strong arms loosened as he brought her closer and put his forehead on hers. “No”, he said more firmly, but she could see the conflict in his eyes as he opened and locked them with hers, their yellowish hue making her insides squirmed and pulse in want. “Our traditions demand it,” he reminded her and she whimpered in protest. But she did know what he was talking about even though she had never hated their customs more than it that moment.

“You cannot be sullied so close to the wedding, not even by your betrothed,” Sherlock explained, as if reminding himself, his breath ruggish, “and I will not have your reputation tarnished. I will _not_.”

“But-” sod the traditions! She didn’t care about all of it. All that mattered was _him_. She just wanted him, needed him like she had never needed anything in her life. 

“ _Margaret_.”

It wasn’t his sharp tone that had finally snapped her from her hazy desire. She blinked then frowned. No one really called her by that name, and it sounded even more wrong coming from his lips. She loosened her grip on his neck and allowed her body to fall gently to her feet, putting a few more inches of distance between them. “Molly,” she said crisply in face of his denial. 

He blinked, “What?”

“You asked me to call you Sherlock, and I ask you to call me Molly, that’s what my closest ones call me.” she said briskly, her chin lifted in defiance. 

His eyes narrowed but then smiled boyishly at her. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, despite her disgruntlement with him. “Molly, it is then,” he said softly. 

She couldn’t help smiling back at him. 

He gazed at her, searching her face as his eyes finally returned to their natural blue-green colour.

He nodded and took a step back. “I better get going, it is not proper for me to be with you alone.” He turned then stopped, looking around the place with a grimace. “Maybe you’d better come with me for the time being. Mrs Hudson, my housekeeper, will be your chaperone until your flat is cleaned. I will send someone.” He shot her a side glance. “I apologise for the mess.”

Molly shook her head and bent to pick the heart from the floor. “No, don’t apologise. Not for this.” 

“But-”

“No.” She turned and showed him the heart in her hands. “You saved my life and presented me with the heart of our enemy as your betrothal gift.”

His eyes flashed as his face darkened. “The enemy that was after you because of your connection to me.”

But Molly just shook her head. “No, I was a person of interest to him even before that I think, he tried to recruit me against you.” 

“What?” Sherlock looked at her sharply.

“That’s why he was here today. I hoped to learn something useful for you, so I approached him and he finally called on me today.”

Sherlock inhaled sharply. “Wh-why? Why would you do something so foolish?! He was dangerous.”

Molly just shrugged her shoulders. “To protect you, I-I just wanted to be useful.”

“What use would you be to me if you were dead?!” he cried, grasping her by her shoulders. 

“H-he didn’t plan to kill me. He hoped I would tell him how to kill _you_ ,” Molly scoffed, then sombered. “He got incensed once he realised who I am.”

Sherlock glowered, his eyes flashing once more with the yellowish gleam, as he shook her once for good measure. “You could have died, it would have killed me, if you died.”

“Wh-what?” Molly gasped. 

He released her and smoothed his hair in agitation, pacing in front of her. “I stayed away from you to protect you, to ensure that no one would target you. I pretended to show how little you mean to me, when the opposite is the truth, and here you almost got killed out of your own foolishness!” he roared.

Even though her heart soared at this admission, her irritation won over. “It was not foolish! How could I have known I matter even the slightest bit to you, if you had never indicated you remember my existence!”

His eyes flashed once more as he glowered at her. “You matter the most! You’ve always mattered the most! If something happens to you… If something…” he grasped her arms again, his eyes locked with hers. “I came here the moment I learned he was interested in you. I… I feared the worst, I feared I’d find your corpse, I... he was so formidable!” He shook her once more.

“Oh, _oh_!” Molly gasped, tears gathering in her eyes, at the anguish she could _finally_ see in his, at the trembling in his hands she still felt on her arms where he grasped her. “I-I’m sorry. I-I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't. But-but it's over. It's over. Y-you killed him, he’s gone.”

Sherlock's chest heaved, as his eyes bore into hers, the yellowish gleam pulsing with each breath he took. “He met his deserved end,” he growled finally, then took a deep breath and another, and finally his eyes returned to his natural state as his emotions calmed. 

Molly touched his face lightly. “He won’t kill any of our kind, you made sure of it, and I have proof of that,” she said, looking at her other hand where she had the heart firmly grasped. She cradled it with both of her hands, lifting it a little. “I really like my betrothal gift,” she said, looking up at him. “I’m… I'm glad I got one finally, and it was worth the wait.”

Sherlock shifted as he cleared his throat, taking a step back. “Yes, well, I hoped if you didn’t get one, you’d have legal measurements to call off the betrothal.”

“What?" Molly looked at him shocked. "But- but it would have meant your death or the disgrace of your clan.”

He looked away and shrugged nonchalantly. 

“Why? Why would you risk something like that?” she asked then pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders when he refused to meet her gaze. “Doesn’t matter then, for I would have _never_ called it off,” she said firmly. 

He looked back at her, surprised. She stared at him defiantly, her chin lifted in determination. He searched her face then exhaled slowly. He nodded. He touched the heart in her hands. “I'm glad you like your betrothal gift then.” He looked up and smiled sheepishly at her. “And that it was worth the wait.” He frowned. “Too bad it's not something permanent.” 

Molly cleared her throat. “Actually, I think I can preserve it using some latest chemical concoctions.” 

Sherlock looked at her with raised eyebrow. “Oh?”

Molly smiled, a blush appearing on her cheeks. “Yes, it’s called formaldehyde. The latest raving of pathology.” 

Sherlock searched her face. She felt her heart in her throat as she awaited his judgement. She knew he was aware of her interests in science despite the world’s view on women being unable to grasp its finer machinations. She just hoped he didn’t share it. 

“Is it?” He asked with a smile. “Hm, I'm quite intrigued in learning how it works. Would you mind if I assist you?” 

She blushed but her heart was singing at his words. “No, not at all.” She smiled at him. “And maybe... as we are at it, we could talk? Learn a little about each other before the actual wedding? So I don't do anything as foolish as trying to spy on Moriarty again?” 

He glowered but then inhaled slowly and smiled at her. “All right, yes.” He nodded. “That does sound reasonable. And… well, it would be prudent of me to let you know how much you count and how much you have always counted and how much I have always trusted you.” 

“Oh. Oh!” She blushed and looked down, as red hue appeared on her cheeks. 

“Just one thing, please,” Sherlock asked suddenly as they were in the middle of gathering some things for Molly’s stay with Sherlock’s housekeeper. 

“Yes?” She looked up from packing the human heart into a clean towel. 

Sherlock shifted as he avoided her eyes. “We… we have to refrain from touching each other.”

Molly blinked. “Why?” 

His eyes flashed yellow as he glanced at her briefly.

“Oh.” Molly breathed, her body responding right away. 

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “I’m barely holding my control intact over my desires for you.” 

Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh, oh, so you mean if I just touched you-”

“Yes, better not test it. As I said, we have just a week till the wedding and traditions need to be observed.” He shifted uncomfortably, as he moved to the other room to gather another item for her.

Molly stared at his retreating back, then blinked as a slow smile slowly bloomed on her face. For the first time she had truly comprehended that there was another gift she had received today. One far more precious than the human heart in her hands; but just as delicate as it was, just as easily damaged if not carefully handled; just as much in need of proper loving care. 

Today she realised she had been gifted Sherlock’s metaphorical one. 

And she intended to protect it, guard it and appreciate it with all her might. 

xxx

The End

**Author's Note:**

> All feedback is greatly appreciated! :)


End file.
